


When I Grow Up

by Just_Another_Day



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Brotherly Affection, But Implied Future Angst, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:32:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8922631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Day/pseuds/Just_Another_Day
Summary: Just a little random thing to keep me writing. I totally meant to write something longer than this in the last fortnight, but then I ended up being total Yuri!!! on Ice trash instead. I may need to reread Captive Prince canon before embarking on further fic writing or Laurent may start coming out sounding more like Yuri Plisetsky (which would be kind of hilarious though).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little random thing to keep me writing. I totally meant to write something longer than this in the last fortnight, but then I ended up being total Yuri!!! on Ice trash instead. I may need to reread Captive Prince canon before embarking on further fic writing or Laurent may start coming out sounding more like Yuri Plisetsky (which would be kind of hilarious though).

"Ow," Laurent complained.

Auguste moved quick enough to manage to ruffle the hair on the back of Laurent's head before Laurent could bat his hand away with a half-hearted glare.

"Come on, it can't have hurt that much. It doesn't even feel like it left a lump."

Laurent made a face. No, his head wasn't so bad, upon reflection. It was his pride that really hurt.

Apparently Auguste could read that in his expression. "Oh, don't worry so much. No one expects you to be perfect at your age, particularly not when you've just started practising."

"Easy for you to say," said Laurent. "Even when you were younger than me, I bet you never whacked yourself in the back of the head with a practice sword. Lucky it wasn't the real thing, or you'd be a brother short by now."

"Instead I'm just left with a short brother," Auguste joked.

"Ugh, you're the worst," griped Laurent.

"Nope," Auguste denied. "The _worst_ brother wouldn't remind you that being too short to properly handle a sword doesn't last forever. And he also wouldn't tell you that your strength of mind may end up mattering more than the strength of your sword arm anyway. I've seen the way you play chess, exploiting every tiny little weakness like a shark sensing a drop of blood from across the sea. I bet when you grow up you'll be quite the battle commander."

"Ha. When I grow up," Laurent said with confidence, "there won't even be any battles. By then you'll have had ample time to charm the royalty and courtiers across all the kingdoms. Everyone will be too in love with you to ever want to pick a fight with us." 

Auguste sighed overdramatically. "But how's even the most charming of princes to go about securing lasting peace when in a few years everyone will be waging wars over the renowned epic beauty of Prince Laurent of Vere?" 

"Shut up," said Laurent. "I'd rather they all just left me alone with my books, thanks."

"You'll still have to learn how to wield a sword, then, if only to fight off your hundreds of suitors and earn your time alone."

"Please," Laurent scoffed. " _You'd_ fight for me."

Auguste promised seriously, "Always."


End file.
